Reality crashed back when I spotted the bag of weed he was trying and failing to hide. Maybe I don't know him anymore. Reality has a way of shattering illusions, leaving nothing but sharp edges and uncomfortable truths.

Standing in my bedroom—the one where I've spent every summer since I was four—memories assault me from every corner. This space, with its sun-drenched layout and that old rocking chair still nestled in the corner, feels like a time capsule of my past. I've devoured countless books in that chair, lost in stories while summer light painted patterns across the pages. The expansive windows frame the lake vista perfectly. This room is mine because, as the only girl, I was given this sanctuary.

The Sullivans could have sold this house years ago, upgraded to something grander, more polished. But this place—with its worn edges and imperfect charm—has something money can't buy: it feels loved, lived in, real. It's my favorite spot in the world. The walls remain that same soft off-white they've always been, unchanged even after Lydia's redecorating phase. Every photo on the mantle stays exactly where it's always been, holding my memories in place.

Bones, my battle-scarred stuffed toy from Dad—a gift after I broke my ankle the summer I turned twelve—watches me from the bed, his button eyes somehow managing to look judgmental.

"Don't look at me like that, Bones."

Great, now I'm talking to a stuffed animal out loud.

"Talking to stuffed animals again, are we?" Jake's voice cuts through my reverie, warm and familiar.

"I think Bones is mad I left him behind," I reply, nodding toward the toy.

Jake's laugh feels like sunshine breaking through clouds, instantly lifting the heaviness from the room. "He probably just missed you. Give him time," he suggests, his presence as comforting as always.

He leans against the doorframe with that easy grace of his, and I can't help but notice how much he's changed too. The gym selfies he's been sending don't do justice to the athlete he's become. His shoulders have broadened, muscles defined by countless hours in the pool. Even at rest, his stance radiates quiet confidence. His sun-bronzed skin tells stories of early morning practices and dedication that's finally paying off.

"All settled in?" he asks, his eyes meeting mine with that grounding steadiness that's so uniquely Jake.

"I guess you could say that," I respond, gesturing to my half-hearted unpacking attempt.

He settles onto the bed, immediately making himself at home in a way that feels right, natural. His fingers find Bones' floppy ears, fidgeting with them as he speaks.

"So, tell me everything I missed."

"What do you mean? You know everything," I say, genuinely puzzled. We've stayed connected—texts, calls, those ridiculous gym selfies.

"I think you're the one who needs to do the catching up. Duke?" I prod, watching color rise in his cheeks.